


The Doctor and the Nurse

by Nicor_Fyrweorm



Series: Last of the Time Lords [11]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Time Lords (Doctor Who), Gen, Historical Figures, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by COVID-19, The Master Has Issues (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27262810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicor_Fyrweorm/pseuds/Nicor_Fyrweorm
Summary: Rory wanted the Doctor to take a break before he inevitably snapped. A Matron wanted for her children to grow old and strong, at any cost. And a Doctor wanted to save his patients, even if that meant trusting some weird Englishmen.The Master wanted to find enough information about the cracks to bring back Amy and the Doctor.Or the one where some people work, others take a break, and tempers end up snapping all the same.
Relationships: The Master & Rory Williams
Series: Last of the Time Lords [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1511825
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	The Doctor and the Nurse

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very sorry for the long wait, but the world, and _my_ world, have been turned upside down pretty badly these last months. I've got things mostly sorted out by now, but unfortunately, it has impacted the story. The first half of this was written Before The Pandemic, but it wasn't until yesterday that I finally sat down and decided to stop hitting my head against the wall trying to remember what I had planned for this and just let the characters do what they wanted so I could _finish it._ This means it's probably going to be unfitting or twist in a way it shouldn't, but I've been holding onto this piece for too long and it's not getting better.
> 
> So, I'm posting this now and moving on to the next episode, which I'm actually excited about, unlike some months ago. Hopefully, I'll manage to get it done without any breaks inbetween that make me forget what I was trying to do in the first place.

When Rory exits the corridor into the control room, he finds himself strangely _not_ surprised. He should be, _by all means,_ he should. But he isn't. Because, for as long as he's been traveling in the TARDIS, the Doctor has always been working on the controls in the morning, the same he was when he left him the night before. 

Except one time, when he'd been on the lower level, performing some kind of maintenance on the engines. But he'd still been wearing the same clothes he'd had the night before, so it doesn't count. 

So, Rory is not surprised to see him at the controls, serious and focused on the undecipherable glyphs floating and popping in and out of the screen, typing and adjusting levers and dials in answer to whatever they tell him. 

He doesn't acknowledge Rory, but he doesn't need to. Rory knows the Doctor is aware of his presence. 

No, Rory is not surprised. What he is, though, is _concerned._ And curious. He has a lot of questions in his mind, half of them – scratch that, about ninety percent of them are of a medical nature. 

So, Rory gets down the stairs to join the Doctor at the console, careful not to touch anything. He puts the plate of pancakes he made for breakfast close enough to the Doctor that he can grab them without moving that much, but far enough to be out of range of whatever controls he needs. 

“How much do Time Lords need to sleep?” he asks in place of a 'good morning', knowing the Doctor doesn't care about such platitudes when he's busy with his work. 

Which is, quite frankly, _all the time._

 _He used to be more cheerful,_ a part of Rory whispers, sounding almost concerned, remembering the alien as he'd been back on Sicily, serious while investigating and dealing with the Laestrygonian, but calm and mischievous in-between. _At the very least, he used to_ not _be a workaholic. Not to this extent._

Not even in Cardiff, with the Neverwere and Captain Harkness around, was the Doctor this detached and… focused, of sorts. He _was_ focused then, but he still managed to insult people with a grin, mock and rebuff the humans for not paying attention. But he doesn't do that anymore. 

True, he isn't being aggressive or combative, least so with Rory, but he's just so… serious. 

Like Rory and his fellow nurses, the day of the bus crash, when they'd had to deal with about forty injured people and crying children and distraught parents, after two days of long shifts in the midst of what had to have been the worst flu epidemic in Leadworth of the last ten years. 

They had been so focused on what they were doing because they would collapse the moment they stopped, and they couldn't afford that. 

His dad had joked he looked like he'd just come from war rather than the hospital, and his mom had seriously asked him if _Rory_ needed to go to the hospital for a checkup, he looked _that_ bad. 

He had slept for fourteen hours straight after that and recovered in a couple more days, but… 

“About eight hours every three weeks is enough,” the Doctor answers, unbothered by the question or Rory's rudeness, and not even grimacing at the pancake he bites into, despite it being half burnt. 

No one said _Rory_ was a good cook, but he can manage. 

And yet, he waits, watching as the Doctor takes a second bite while his free hand carefully rotates a dial, pale green-gold eyes never leaving the screen. 

But no biting comment, no question about why Rory would ask this now, no mocking retort about the quality of the pancakes. The Doctor will keep working until he gets what he's looking for, or until he drops. 

Rory swallows a lump in his throat that can either be worry or annoyance, and puts his hands in his pockets instead, fingering his kit absentmindedly and letting its presence calm his nerves. 

“That's useful. When was the last time you slept then? Cardiff?” 

“Being unconscious is not the same as being asleep,” the Doctor chastises, his voice rumbling with a hint of annoyance that makes Rory perk up. “Though it serves the same purpose when it comes to physical processes.” 

And Rory waits for the inevitable insult towards the human race and their biological weaknesses, but it never comes. 

“So as long as I knock you out once every three weeks, I don't need you to fall asleep. That's good to know,” he retorts sarcastically, and while the Doctor scoffs, he doesn't answer. 

That won't do. 

“What do you do when I'm asleep then? Do you stay here all night doing maintenance, or whatever that is?” he asks, hoping a change of topic will help get the Doctor out of his focused state, get a reaction, _something._

Whatever the crack in the Silurian tunnels and what the Doctor found in it meant, it has affected him deeply, forced him into this hyper-focused state, this relentless pursuit of _something_ Rory can't help with. 

And now he finds out that it doesn't matter how much he tries to distract him and help him during their adventures in fixing temporal anomalies. As soon as Rory goes to bed, the Doctor goes off again. On his own. 

He shouldn't be alone. The Doctor should _never_ be alone. That's, like, the most important rule of traveling with the Doctor. 

Well, actually, there are different sets of rules when it comes to traveling with the Doctor. The Doctor Rules are for the Doctor himself, about not killing or hurting people and giving everyone a chance and all that. Then, there are the Companion Rules, how the Doctor expects his companions to act, which include not wandering off and listening to his instructions, among others. But then, there are the Taking Care of the Doctor Rules. Never call the Doctor 'Doctor', remind him to be the Doctor without calling him thus, use Rule 6 in case of emergencies, and, last but most definitely _not_ least, _never leave the Doctor alone._

Turns out it doesn't matter if Rory doesn't leave him alone while they're out of the TARDIS. Sooner or later, he'll have to sleep, and the Doctor will be alone anyway. 

“Mostly, but I also take care of some anomalies in dangerous areas,” the Doctor answers, nonplussed, before scowling at the latest glyph and erasing the whole screen with a flick of a switch, new glyphs filling it with some more fiddling. 

“Wait, _dangerous?_ I should've been with you, watching your back!” Rory protests, far more worried than before at the knowledge that not only does the Doctor go places alone, but that they are _dangerous._

Knowing the Doctor, and the kind of dangers they have encountered _during the day,_ what does 'dangerous' exactly _mean?_

“For _humans,”_ the Doctor supplies with a huff, still focused on the screen, and so he doesn't see Rory slump in relief. “I'm pretty sure there's a hazmat suit in the wardrobe, but it's easier for me to just go alone without having to worry about you ripping the suit and—” 

The Doctor cuts himself with a quickly stifled shudder, breath hitching and eyes closing tightly for an instant before, with a deep breath, he turns his attention back to the screen and shoves another pancake into his mouth to keep himself from saying more. 

Rory is a nurse; he doesn't need more than some seconds to put his words together and gawk at the alien in disbelief. 

“You can survive radiation poisoning,” he deadpans before he can stop himself, surprised despite knowing better nowadays. 

Aliens are aliens, and he can most definitely expect the unexpected from them, but the Doctor's human appearance still leads to some shocks every now and then. And well, who could fault him? The weirdest thing he has ever seen him do is burst into golden energy and melt someone with what appeared to be just some words. 

… Right, that's actually really weird. But still. Radiation. It's freaky to think Rory would have to be clad in a bulky yellow hazmat suit while the Doctor simply skips around, unbothered and no worse for wear. All his training is telling him that it's impossible, that there should be _at least_ some aftereffects, but apparently, he's wrong again. 

_Aliens._

The Doctor's lips press into a very thin and pale line, holding himself stiffly for a moment as he glares down at his hands with an oddly grief-tainted rage. The expression vanishes in the next blink, though, so Rory doesn't ask. As much as he wants to poke at the Doctor to get some kind of reaction out of him, the last thing he wants is to remind him of his pain. 

“Some types. Some amounts,” he answers simply, stoic, before refocusing on the screen and forcing his shoulders to relax. 

“Which types? Which amounts?” Rory asks, and when the Doctor doesn't answer, scowls. “Hey, I'm _your nurse._ I need to know these things,” he protests, and finally, the Doctor lets his shoulders drop with a sigh and an eyeroll. “Right. So, which types of radiation? Nuclear?” 

“No,” the Doctor answers deadly serious, glaring at the screen. 

“Roentgen?” Rory asks without skipping a beat, though a small part of him is double-thinking his topic of interrogation. 

“Essentially harmless for a Time Lord, as long as not much of it is absorbed, and it can be expelled swiftly enough if so.” 

“It can what? How do you 'expel' radiation? Which machine do I need to use?” Rory asks, frowning as he thinks back to the infirmary, which seems to have permanently moved to the first door on the left of the central corridor. 

He has been poking around in his free time, sometimes with the Doctor around to help him identify and learn how to operate the machines, but lately with a book about the different kinds of medical equipment of the 63rd century, which seems to be where the TARDIS took most of the infirmary from. 

Still, he can't remember seeing anything to deal with radiation… 

“No machines, _we_ do it. The Time Lords. We learnt in the Academy.” 

“They teach you how to deal with _radiation_ in school?” Rory asks, stunned, before reminding himself that whatever the Doctor calls an 'Academy' might not be what Rory knows as a 'school'. 

Either that or the Academy is more about how to be a Time Lord, kind of university for Time Lords. Which, actually, makes far more sense. 

“No, they teach metabolic control. Roentgen radiation just doesn't happen to be that harmful. We used to play with Roentgen bricks in the nursery, until they took them away,” he adds, shrugging dismissively, but Rory finds himself with even more questions now. 

“Why would they take them away if it isn't dangerous for you?” Rory asks with a frown, shaking his head to try and make sense of what he's just been told. 

“They were too easy to track. They realized the bricks were compromising our location after the first attack, so they took them away. They were lucky the bastards hadn't managed to share our location, or we would all have ended up like Neskathdavorflorquith, rotting under the suns. They didn't make that mistake again,” the Doctor scowls, glaring at the screen as he flips a couple of switches, and Rory is fairly sure he's not entirely aware of what he's just said. 

“Attack?” Rory repeats, wide-eyed and fighting against the knot of dread threatening to drown his voice, and the Doctor _finally_ looks away from the screen to meet his eyes. “Rotting under the— _what_ are you talking about? What kind of childhood did you have?” he adds in a higher-pitched voice than he'd intended, looking between the Doctor's eyes in search for an answer. 

The Doctor scoffs, almost disgusted before taking half a step to the side so he can face Rory properly. 

“I grew up in a war,” he answers dismissively, waving a hand as if it was nothing, but his expression smooths into indifference when Rory's mouth falls open in an undignified gawk. “Don't be so surprised, it isn't that different from someone who grew up during World War II. The children were evacuated to the countryside and returned to their families after, if they had them. We got sent to the Drylands and recruited into the Academy when the Cloister Wars were over, so we could get back to our _wondrous_ lives of duty. Not much of a mystery there, really,” he explains callously, shrugging before turning his attention to the screen. 

Well. That… kind of explains things. Still… 

“The whole 'rotting under the sun' thing is an expression, isn't it?” he asks almost softly, unsure if he wants an answer to that question, but knowing it is the kind of thing that would explain _a lot_ about the Doctor himself. 

“No, it isn't,” the Time Lord answers simply, shrugging almost dismissively as he turns back to the screen, but the iciness of his eyes is more answer than his actual words. 

If Rory was prone to cursing… actually, he isn't sure if he _would_ have cursed, as shocked as he is now. 

That is most definitely _not_ the kind of thing a child should see. Or anyone, for that matter. 

“But there were good moments too, weren't there? Some wardrobe to get you to a magic world?” he asks, both as an attempt to distract the Doctor—and himself—from that particular memory, and to try and get a rise out of him again. 

After all, if he hadn't known about Tolkien, what are the odds he knows about C.S. Lewis and the world of Narnia? 

“Of course not!” the Doctor answers with a scoff, turning to Rory with a deadpan look. “Do you really think they would've let a TARDIS anywhere near a bunch of brats? Near _us?_ Then again, maybe it would have been preferable to blowing up the shed,” he muses, distracted once the TARDIS pings once more and he goes back to scowling and deleting glyphs from the screen. 

… Okay, so he doesn't know about C.S. Lewis, though he _might_ have inspired Narnia. That mention of the TARDIS instead of the wardrobe? Definitely suspicious. However, Rory's brain decides to focus on a _different_ part of his answer. 

“You blew up the shed,” Rory repeats dully, not sure if he's stunned, resigned or amused, before settling for a grin and a shake of his head. “And here I thought you were bad _now.”_

The Doctor's answering grin is so sharp that Rory takes a step back before he can stop himself. 

“Oh, you haven't seen bad _yet.”_

_Well done, Rory. That took his mind off the job. Now let's see if you can survive it._

“Yeah, right, sure, whatever you say. Uhm. So…” Rory stutters, trying to find something to distract the Doctor with before he can continue down that tangent—and straightens in realization, earning himself a wary look. “We've been fixing temporal anomalies all week and I get it's important, it's your job, but well, you have a time machine. How about we take a day off? It isn't like you can't just pop in and out of time whenever you want, right?” 

“A day off?” the Doctor repeats, scowling as if insulted, but at least he's no longer lost in his mind or planning how to make Rory squirm. “Oh, how very _human._ Rory, this is _important._ The cracks are not something that can be left alone, I _need_ to find out how they came to be and how to reverse it if I am to fix everything! I can't just ignore temporal anomalies or take _days off._ That's not how this works.” 

“But you have a time machine,” Rory protests again, gesturing around at the TARDIS, which seems to hum louder as if in answer to his words. “Surely you can take at least an evening off for, huh… A match?” 

“Of what, _cricket?”_ he scoffs, nose scrunched as if he smelt something foul. 

“How about a day at the beach?” 

“We just came from Lyle beach.” 

“Yes, but we only went there to stop that crazy revolt from messing with the development of the automatic sand.” 

“Still, we spent all day at the beach.” 

“Then what about a… a… oh, a movie! Theatre? _Opera?”_ he proposes, slowly running out of options and starting to panic. 

He needs the Doctor to take a day off, to find himself again – or as much 'himself' as he can be without being 'the Doctor'. One way or another, alien or not, Rory knows he needs him to take a break before he loses himself in his 'job' of fixing the cracks. Before he loses himself _completely._

“Opera?” the Doctor repeats, more than a little startled and, Rory hopes, a bit _interested._ “Since when do you watch opera?” 

“I… I've never seen one. And there's a first time for everything, right? Especially when you have a time machine and can go back to see the classics in person,” he answers sincerely and more than enthusiastic, though it's more due to the Doctor's interest than Rory's own. “What do you say? A night at the opera, while the TARDIS keeps running her calculations. It's not like you need to be _here_ while she does that, isn't it?” 

The Doctor scrunches his nose again and to Rory's defeat, focuses back on the screen. 

“I have a time machine. I can go watch an opera _whenever.”_

But thankfully, the TARDIS doesn't seem to think the same, as the screen goes black in the next second. The Doctor curses and fiddles with the controls, but nothing he does manages to make the glyphs come back. 

“Well, I guess that's settled then. Any preferences?” Rory asks cheekily, unable to keep his grin off his face, when the Doctor groans and drops his head, sighing. 

“… Actually, yes. _Ein Feldlager in Schlesien,_ or as you would know it, _A Camp in Silesia._ I saw that one in Berlin, but they made a bloodier and more twisted version for its debut in Vienna in 1847, _Vielka._ They had Jenny Lind from the fourth performance on, and I did enjoy her in _Ein Feldlager in Schlesien,”_ the Doctor answers in a hum, giving the TARDIS the stink eye until she turns the screen back on with the usual circular glyphs instead of the screen the Doctor had been working on. “You won't let me get out of this one, will you? Ugh, alright. Vienna, February 1847,” he huffs, already reaching for the controls, and Rory hurriedly grabs the empty plate of pancakes and drops into the jump seat for the bumpy ride. 

They peek out the door when they land, to make sure they truly are in mid-eighteenth-century Vienna, which the Doctor confirms with a sniff, before they go down to change. 

Rory is a bit wary, after some of the weird clothes he has had to put on before, but it turns out it actually isn't that bad. Straight pale gray pants, black ankle boots, white shirt with upturned collar, black vest, brown tailcoat, and, to finish it off, a yellow neck cloth. The Doctor, as usual, has decided to go for something a bit fancier, with plain brown pants, patterned yellow and green vest, red cravat and navy-blue tailcoat, but even he is quite inconspicuous. As he explains, the society of the time was mostly going for dull colors rather than flashy ones, but that doesn't mean they don't grab a top hat each before they leave the wardrobe. 

“Oh, and this one should be your size. It's February in Vienna, it might get chilly,” the Doctor adds, stopping by a coat rack and handing Rory a black greatcoat not unlike Captain Jack's before rummaging some more along the shelves. “Now, for me… Nope, too big. Too _long._ Oh, come on, there has to be something…” he grumbles under his breath, and Rory doesn't bother hiding his grin once he's put his own coat on, after a quick but hesitant glance at the rack of untouched mismatched clothing that includes the horrid multicolored disaster, Cardiff's leather jacket, and, funnily enough, a frock coat. “Aha! This one should do!” 

Rory turns around, confused by the Doctor's complete disregard for that rack, before stifling a laugh at the coat he's now putting over his shoulders. 

“Where did you get that? From Sherlock Holmes?” he asks, snickering, as the Doctor rearranges the flaps falling from the shoulders of his dark brown coat. 

“Don't be ridiculous, it'll be over fifty years before those books are written. This is a Carrick coat, and technically it's a travel coat, not something you would wear to an opera. But we're travelers and we have our passes, so who cares?” he answers pulling out his psychic paper before pocketing it again and adjusting his top hat. “So! Ready for the opera?” 

“Ready as I can be,” Rory answers with a grin, happy to see the Doctor in higher spirits even if their time off has been 'forced' on him. 

It'll do him good. It'll do _both_ of them good. And even if Rory's not too sure about the opera, at least he knows this time there's no trouble to worry about, merely some boredom ahead if he doesn't take to the play itself. But if that's the worst that awaits them, Rory will gladly take it. 

… Of course, it is never that easy. 

As soon as they are outside and the Doctor locks the TARDIS behind them, a pained scream fills the alley they parked in, making both of them jump and spin around. 

There's a shape curled just inside the alley, out of the main street and going ignored by the people walking by, barely sparing a look without slowing down. Rory curses in his head as he and the Doctor rush to the screamer, falling to his knees next to who he now recognizes as a woman – and blanches as the source of her pain becomes very much obvious. 

She's pregnant. _Very_ pregnant. So very pregnant that her skirts are stained and she's red and sweaty and huffing— 

Rory looks up at the Doctor, slightly panicked, only to be met with the same look on the alien's face. 

Right. Alien. Of course. 

“Hospital. There has to be a hospital around here, someplace we can take her—” 

“No!” the woman shouts, grabbing onto Rory's arm so painfully tight that he winces. “Not the hospital, please! They will kill us there!” 

“They will _what?”_ the Doctor and Rory exclaim in unison, startled, before quick footsteps stop next to them. 

A man somewhere in his late twenties looks down at them with determination rather than the disgust of the other people in the street, though there's a brief flash of surprise as his eyes land on Rory and the Doctor, in their posh clothes, next to the woman. His brown hair, ear-length and parted to one side, looks slightly disheveled thanks to his run, and his own clothes consist of pale gray pants and a beige vest over a white shirt pulled up to his elbows, with neither coat nor neck cloth in sight. 

However, when he looks at the woman again, any doubt or surprise vanish from his face. 

“Bring her up to my apartment. It's no maternity ward, but anything is better than a street birth,” he orders Rory and the Doctor, before hurrying up to an open door in the main street, the first to their left. “Hurry up! I will prepare everything!” 

Rory doesn't hesitate as he helps the woman to her feet, whispering softly to her, and ignores the Doctor's sigh and mutinous grumbling. A moment later, though, he pulls up to the woman's other side to help Rory bring her up. 

The stranger has left the door of the apartment on the first floor open, so they make their way inside with only one scare when the woman's weight falls on them halfway up the stairs due to a contraction. A voice calls for them from a door past a humble living room, and they lose no time making their way into the bedroom. 

“Put her on the bed,” the stranger tells them, just finished washing his hands in a basin that smells faintly of chlorine and lime. “Wash your hands if you wish to assist, leave if you don't. I will not have you loitering around while there's work to be done.” 

“Right away,” Rory answers without hesitation, pulling off his hat, coat and tailcoat, and throwing them on a chair, before rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands while the Doctor helps the woman lie on the bed, grimacing when she crushes his hand with a new scream. “Doctor, are you going to—” 

“I'd rather wait outside,” the alien cuts before Rory can do something as _horrifying_ as to ask him to assist in childbirth, but the woman's grip doesn't slack, keeping him in place. “Oh, alright! I'll deliver moral support, you do your thing and make this _stop,”_ he hisses at Rory, threat clear in his voice but panic in his pale eyes, and so Rory just nods and proceeds to help the stranger, who apparently has far more experience in childbirth than Rory does, with whatever he may need. 

The stranger instructs the woman to breathe, and when the Doctor takes over, free hand wiping her forehead before he carefully, almost tenderly, cradles her cheek and rests his forehead against hers, whispering softly, the stranger turns to Rory again. 

“Do you have experience in obstetrics?” 

“Not in that specific field, no,” he answers, and so he's relegated to a supporting role instead, cleaning and handing towels and marveling at the fact the woman no longer screams with each new contraction, instead whimpering softly _in time with the Doctor,_ both their eyes closed, and murmuring 'breath' or 'push' in unison every now and then. 

Rory's pretty sure it's only the Doctor's alien mind-tricks that make the birth go as smoothly as it does, though he has to admit that the stranger's calm and knowledge would have got them through even if Rory and the Doctor hadn't been around. 

What feels like an eternity later, the cry of a newborn babe fills the room. Rory sighs, relieved and awed and exhausted all at once, but he doesn't have time for more than that before the stranger starts ordering him around once more. Placental delivery, cleanup, checking up on the mother… The stranger leaves Rory in charge when he demonstrates he can take care of that, taking the baby away for the routine care and cleaning, but Rory is so busy with his tasks that he doesn't notice he's been left alone until he has to check on the woman. 

“Doctor? Hey, are you alright?” he asks once he realizes the stranger isn't around and the new mother is dead asleep, looking at the alien in concern as he finally pushes away from the woman to sit on the bed, flexing his freed fingers with a grimace. 

“Ugh, I never thought I'd give birth again. I had forgotten how much that hurt,” he hisses, rubbing his chest with a pained expression that he vanishes with a deep breath, turning his attention to his reddened fingers with something that could be called awe. “Huh. She has a strong grip.” 

Despite the previous exhaustion weighing him down, Rory finds himself almost jumping to his feet, brain abuzz with a lot of nonsensical static, and lower jaw practically on the floor. 

“What do you – _again?!”_ he squeaks an octave higher than his regular voice, and the Doctor looks up at him in confusion, still flexing his fingers. “You said—But you—And she—And _you—_ Give _birth?!”_

“Oh, that,” the Doctor hums once he manages to figure out what has left Rory in this state, completely unbothered. “Just had to do my part to _preserve_ the House. Do my duty as expected _for once,”_ he explains with a scowl, no longer flexing his fingers even as he gives them a look, and Rory can only answer with a high-pitched whimper that he's not sure how he's managed to produce. “Re- _lax!_ They didn't trust me to be a good role model, so I only had the one womb-born.” 

“One _womb-_ born?!” 

“Yes, I know! But they put me in charge of a couple batches of loom-borns, before my other duties took precedence.” 

A couple batches. A batch of cupcakes is six. A batch of cookies is around two dozen. How much is _a batch of kids?_

Rory makes the high-pitched noise again, refusing to let his brain go further down that path, and earning himself a confused and slightly worried look from the Doctor. 

“Are _you_ alright? I'm not sure humans are supposed to sound like that.” 

“You had—But that's all from a machine, right? You said just one was from a womb, _right?”_ he asks, trying to get a grip on his sanity while a wailing part of his brain keeps shouting _alien_ almost hysterically, as if that would make it all better. 

… It should, but Rory is in too big a shock for it to work this time. 

“The loom-borns were from a machine. But yes, I had a womb-born too. I was supposed to have more, but by then they had already tested the looms and they implemented them, so they gave me a batch of loom-borns instead,” he explains with a shrug, checking the woman's temperature with the back of his hand when she starts to shiver, and getting up to retrieve a blanket from the wardrobe. 

“You had a – you have a _womb?_ No, wait, forget that. You must have been a woman then,” Rory blurts out before he can stop himself, shaking his head and slowly grabbing onto the calm that had eluded him just a moment ago. 

The Doctor scowls. 

“Really? Rory, _please._ I'm a Time Lord. We don't have something as ridiculous as _genders,_ we just happen to have different models of shells that binary species can categorize according to _their_ divisions,” he explains in his 'Time Lords are the superior species' tone, completely serious and obviously disappointed in Rory for having forgotten the Doctor is _an alien,_ and that, despite all similarities to humans, he's most definitely _not_ one of them. 

Which is something Rory _doesn't_ want to think about, not when discussing _this_ topic, even if any detail of the Doctor's past is interesting – _but not in this context!_

“Shell? What's a shell?” he asks instead before his brain can fully reboot, but even after that, he realizes it _is_ a good question. 

The Doctor looks at him with a deadpan expression. 

“You're staring right at it,” he says simply before letting out a sigh and sitting more comfortably on the bed, crossing his arms against his chest and tilting his head as if trying to figure out the best way to explain whatever alien concept a 'shell' is supposed to be. “Humans, and most of this universe, are tridimensional creatures. You have width, length and height, and live in a tridimensional environment. You also exist in the fourth dimension, in Time, but you do _not_ have the ability or the dimension to _be_ in that dimension. As thus, you can appreciate a small part of the fourth dimension in the passage of time. But Time Lords are more than that.” 

“You… have a 'fourth' dimension? Is that how you can tell the time, and stitch it like you did with the Neverwere?” he asks far more calmly, and infinitely more curious now that they are on a safer topic. 

Far more confusing, in all likelihood, but definitely more interesting. 

“We have a fourth dimension, but we have many more too. Time Lords are one of the few species left in this universe that are multidimensional, not merely tridimensional or tetradimensional or even pentadimensional. Well, _I_ am one of the last few multidimensional creatures in the universe,” he corrects himself with a scowl, turning away from Rory and tightening his grip on his arms, still crossed against his chest. 

“Why 'multidimensional'? Why not a number? Just how many dimensions do you have?” he asks, both in an attempt to break him out of his oncoming gloom and to once more redirect him to this interesting and useful topic. 

If something like a Neverwere occurs again, Rory will need this information to know where to start treating him, especially if the TARDIS is inaccessible once more. 

“Do you know how rude that just was?” the Doctor asks with a grimace that is part mocking and part shark grin, so Rory merely shrugs with a not completely insincere grin. “And there's no number because, quite simply, none of your languages have a number for it. No, it's not because it's too 'big',” he adds when he sees Rory's eyes grow wide, the grimace morphing into a genuinely amused smile. “It's simply that it is understood in a way your species cannot comprehend, and so you cannot describe it in a way as simple as any of your numbers. If I were to try… It would be something like 7+1-6x0,3-(-4/2)x9-6/3+(-1,2-10). Don't try to operate that, it's not an equation. It's a _sentence._ Only, it's written in a language you cannot understand,” he explains calmly, though it probably helps that there's comprehension in Rory's face rather than complete lack of understanding. 

Of course, what he _won't_ tell the Doctor is that part of that realization comes from the fact he _remembers_ this string of numbers, or a very similar one, from back when the Doctor had been drifting in Cardiff. 

Still, in a very twisted way, Rory can make sense of that. 

“And where does the shell thing come from then? Is it a disguise?” he asks, eying the Doctor more warily after that. 

“No, it's not. The 'shell' is the name we give to the tridimensional part of our selves that tridimensional species can comprehend. What you see right now is about a third of me, but it's not a disguise in any sense of the word. It's like seeing someone with or without clothes. There is a body under the shirt that you just can't see. Then again, I can 'curl up' somewhat, hiding feelers or wrapping dimensions into my tridimensional shell, so that they are protected from multidimensional attacks. Like you would cover your head with your arms if someone tried to punch you.” 

Rory's head is reeling, but he has to admit that all the comparisons help _a lot_ when it comes to making impossible concepts such as multidimensionality comprehensible, up to an extent. 

Still, _ouch, my head._

Of course, the stranger comes back in right at that moment, the baby asleep in some kind of basket, bundled in a pale beige cloth. 

“How is she?” he asks, carefully depositing the basket on one of the chairs in the room. 

“Resting. She had some chills, but everything else is alright. She's a strong woman,” Rory reports, relieved to have the more experienced man around despite not having felt his absence as keenly before. “I'm Rory Williams. Thank you for coming to our aid. Not that we know her, we found her just before you found us, but when she refused to go to the hospital…” 

“Many do,” their benefactor tells them with a scowl, though it doesn't seem to be directed at any of them. “Doctor Ignaz Semmelweis, First Obstetrical Clinic of the Vienna General Hospital. Thank you for your help and cooperation,” he introduces himself, shaking Rory's hand, but Rory's brain has gone offline once again, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. 

Ignaz Semmelweis, of the Vienna General Hospital. _Ignaz Semmelweis,_ the savior of mothers, the pioneer of antiseptic policy. _Ignaz. **Semmelweis.**_

“Are you alright?” he hears _Doctor Ignaz Semmelweis_ ask as if from underwater, part of his muddled brain noticing how the man's eyes narrow as he analyzes Rory, and how the hand he has still tightly wrapped around _Ignaz Semmelweis'_ is starting to sweat. 

“Ah, forgive him, Doctor Semmelweis. We've just had a long day. We were planning on spending the last three hours in the opera, not tending to a birth,” Rory hears the Doctor say somewhere behind him, but when the alien's cool hand lands on his shoulder, he comes back to his body as if zapped, immediately releasing _Semmelweis'_ hand and taking a step back with a soft blush. 

“Yes, right. What he said. Sorry about that,” he manages to stutter with a giddy grin that he's pretty sure he's successfully wrangled down into something more adequate. “Wait! Three hours? We missed the opera?” he asks, this time turning to the Doctor, and feels his face fall. 

Had it really been that long? 

“That's alright. There will be other days,” the Doctor answers calmly, patting his shoulder once more before letting his hand fall. “Now, what can you tell us about the hospital? Why do women refuse to go there to give birth?” the Doctor asks Semmelweis, and Rory realizes that this, like back in London with _The Lord of the Rings_ thing, is one of those situations where Rory knows more than the Doctor. 

Doctor Ignaz Semmelweis, Hungarian physician of the mid-19th century, was the first to advocate that doctors in obstetric clinics disinfect their hands before treating their patients. While controversial at the time due to his inability to explain _why_ the process was necessary, it all came together with Louis Pasteur's germ theory, some years after his death. Which… they could _maybe_ prevent now. After all, Semmelweis hadn't explained his reasons until years after instilling the practice, answering instead with quite controversial open letters to any that dared doubt him, despite the results that his method was working. He'd been sent to an asylum, and died mere days after being admitted into it. 

Semmelweis scowls, ignorant of Rory's thoughts and focused on the Doctor's question instead, but rather than answer them, he gestures for them to take the conversation back to the living room, letting the woman and her baby rest. 

“Why would they agree to give birth at the hospital? They still come for the aftercare, it is free after all, but they would rather have a street birth,” he finally answers, dropping in an armchair while Rory timidly sits on the couch and the Doctor moves to stand by the window, looking down at the dark street. “The women that give birth at the Clinic risk contracting puerperal fever,” he adds, and Rory nods, recalling his lectures, while the Doctor listens attentively, looking at Semmelweis over his shoulder. 

The Vienna General Hospital had two obstetrician clinics, both of them free with the condition junior doctors could practice there. One of them, the First, also performed autopsies, while the second was exclusively for the midwives, for birth and aftercare. When Semmelweis worked at the First Obstetrical Clinic, he observed that the Second didn't have a mortality rate as bad as the First, not when it came to puerperal fever, and theorized it was because of the autopsies. So, he proposed washing their hands after the autopsies, before taking care of their living patients, and the mortality rates dropped 90% in less than six months. 

Of course, it didn't matter much to his contemporary doctors since he called the germs 'cadaverous particles' and couldn't properly explain how they worked, not until Pasteur, and by then it was too late. But for the rest of the world, this man, far younger than the history books ever pictured him, and as tired as any good doctor striving to help, was a pioneer of modern medicine. Rory doubts the 21st century would be where it is if it hadn't been for someone realizing just how important a simple thing like washing one's hands could be. 

“Is it really that big a risk?” Rory asks tentatively, trying to gauge how far into his discovery Semmelweis is, since he _did_ make Rory wash his hands before he could help with the birth. 

He hadn't thought twice about it, at the time, but now he can see the significance of it. And, quite frankly, it's taking quite an effort not to hop to his feet and start pacing to try to burn his excitement and nervous energy. 

Ignaz. _Semmelweis!_

“Unfortunately, it is,” Semmelweis answers with a tired sigh, once more oblivious as to what is going through Rory's mind, for which he's grateful. “I have been trying to find a solution to it, there must be _something_ we can do, but I haven't made any progress. And now that Professor Kolletschka is dead…” 

“Professor Kolletschka?” Rory asks softly, excitement tempered by his confusion, before the metaphorical lightbulb turns on again. 

Semmelweis had lost a friend to puerperal fever after an incident during an autopsy, which had helped him figure things out. Or, at least, he _thinks_ there was something like that in the lectures, but he'd been quite distracted that day… 

“Professor Jakob Kolletschka, of Forensic Medicine. He helped me put together some information regarding the deceased, but in the end, he was claimed in the same manner,” he explains somberly, looking older as he leans back in his armchair, and the Doctor finally turns around to give Rory a considering look, as if aware he knows more than he's telling. 

Well, that's what they're here for, isn't it? 

“My condolences, Doctor Semmelweis. But surely you could get some help from the Second Obstetrical Clinic to supplement your, uh, your findings?” he comments as casually as he can, trying to be subtle, and sees the Doctor's look turn accusing as he finally realizes _what_ Rory is doing, even if he doesn't have any idea what is his endgame. 

Rory would have answered with a sheepish grin and dropped the subject, but Semmelweis chooses that moment to scoff. 

“The Second Clinic? What would be the use? Their mortality rate is as high as the First's.” 

And Rory freezes, eyes wide, before he finally looks away from Semmelweis, morosely glaring at his hands on his lap, to turn pleading eyes on the Doctor. 

The alien may not be aware of the details, but Rory's look tells him more than enough. 

“It is late and you've had a busy day, Doctor Semmelweis. Thank you once more for your assistance, but if all is well here, then we'll return to our accommodations,” the Doctor tells their host calmly, approaching the couch as Rory tentatively gets back to his feet. “Have a good night, Doctor Semmelweis.” 

“Ah, right, right. Thank you for your assistance, Doctor Williams and Doctor…” 

“Sherlock Holmes. And I am _not_ the Doctor,” the alien answers, keeping his glare to mere annoyance as he quietly disappears back into the guest bedroom to fetch their hats and coats. 

“Isn't he? I thought you had called him Doctor,” Semmelweis muses curiously, turning to Rory while the Doctor is away, and Rory grimaces. 

“Long story.” 

He doesn't have time to explain, as the Doctor returns almost as soon as the words are out, and so, coat on once more, they say their goodbyes one last time and leave Semmelweis' apartment. 

“Alright, what's the deal with Ignaz Semmelweis and those Obstetrical Clinics?” the Doctor asks as soon as they're back in the TARDIS, coats and top hats hanging from a coat hanger by the door that hadn't been there when they left. 

And so, Rory tells him. About the cadaverous particles, and Professor Kolletschka, and the importance of Semmelweis' discovery on modern medicine. And, most important of all, about how he'd arrived to his conclusion. 

“A third?” the Doctor repeats, looking away from the screen showing a wall of text next to a picture of, Rory thinks, older Semmelweis. 

“Yes. The Second Obstetrical Clinic didn't perform autopsies, so they only had a third of the mortality rate of the First. That was what made him turn his attention to the bodies, and Professor Kolletschka's death only confirmed it,” he explains, arms crossed against his chest and foot tapping impatiently on the glass floor. 

The Doctor takes a moment for himself, thinking and analyzing options and staring at the screen, before making the information on it vanish with a click. 

“Alright. First of all, it isn't February, it's the beginning of May, so we overshot for a bit. We can still go to the opera once we fix this, that's the good news. The bad news is that this won't be the 'relaxing' escapade you wanted,” he tells Rory, finger-quoting the word 'relaxing' with a smirk. 

“As long as we take a break after, I'll take it,” Rory answers with a sigh, too tired to fight the Doctor about _who_ needs to take a break when it clearly isn't _Rory._

Stubborn alien. 

Rory shakes his head and meets the Doctor's eyes once more. 

“So, what do we do about this?” 

“Eat, get some rest. This afternoon was exhausting, we've both earned some downtime. I'll get more information on this era, the hospital and Semmelweis himself, and then we can join him for work in the morning. We'll check that Second Clinic, make sure what's going on here isn't completely natural, and deal with the rest as we go,” the Doctor answers, and Rory nods gratefully. 

“Sounds good. I need a shower.” 

“… Me too.” 

* * *

Unlike what Rory seems to believe, the Earth isn't going to die if Ignaz Semmelweis doesn't implement his policy of hand disinfection in 1847. Then again, he is a human and a _nurse,_ so of course he would have some choices about what is important that would differ from Koschei's. 

Still, one way or another, they are here and Koschei would be damned if they let another chance to check on the cracks go by. 

Ever since London, he has focused more than ever on temporal anomalies, trying to locate more cracks to fill in the gaps in information he's suffering from. The discovery of the burnt part of TARDIS, the date he'd got aboard the _Byzantium,_ and the fact Amelia is— 

_Not dead, just… temporarily misplaced._

Right. In the end, what it means is that Koschei needs more information if he is to revert the effect the cracks have had on the universe, as well as to figure out how to use their energy to bring the Doctor back. 

… Of all the stupid projects he's been involved over the years, this one is the stupidest. Him, Koschei, the Master, _fixing_ the universe. 

_You owe me one, Theta. Big time,_ he thinks at the ghost, nowhere to be seen at the moment, as he and Rory wait in the street for Semmelweis to get out of his house. 

It may still be the early hours of the morning, with the sun barely up and hidden behind quite a layer of clouds, but it certainly feels more like May than it does February. In Koschei's defense, it is still close enough to his initial objective to take it as a successful landing. 

It doesn't mean he didn't have words with that pain in the ass as soon as Rory left for the showers, before he himself followed, trying to ignore the way the TARDIS hummed 'innocently'. He had taken the 'break' as they wanted, the least she could do was actually get them where he wanted for once! How come it always works when it's time to fix an anomaly, but never when he actually means to go someplace just because? It isn't like he was planning on setting Vienna on fire! 

… And even if he did, which he _hadn't,_ the Doctor had set Rome _and_ London on fire. Koschei is practically a _saint_ when compared to him, at least in the 'setting human cities on fire' category. Really, for someone who claimed to 'like' the humans, he gave them quite a lot of trouble. 

Though, thinking about it, he gave _everyone_ quite a lot of trouble, sometimes even _intentionally._

The muted creak of the door opening snaps Koschei out of his thoughts, and Rory, who had been practically asleep against the wall by his side, straightens with a jerk and a soft _'m awake._

_Yeah, right._

Semmelweis simply closes the door at his back, gaze lost in whatever is running through his tiny human mind, but he quickly snaps to attention when he sees Koschei approach him from across the street, waving cheerily. 

“Good morning, Doctor Semmelweis. Did you have a good rest?” he asks politely as Rory catches up, and it takes Semmelweis a moment to process their presence before he can answer. 

“Good morning, gentlemen. I… Yes, I did, actually. May I ask as to why you are out in the street this early in the morning?” 

“Isn't it obvious? We were waiting for you,” Koschei answers calmly, keeping his sarcasm at bay for once. 

“We were wondering about the woman we found yesterday. Is she feeling better? What about her baby?” Rory asks before Koschei can get to the matter at hand, apparently more nurse than human when his brain is still half asleep, and after a second to consider whether that will 'endear' them to their guide or chase him away, Koschei decides to just wait for the answer. 

As of now, Semmelweis is their best bet to get in the hospital. Sure, the psychic paper would guarantee them entry without issue, but having someone inside is always a good thing. And since this is a doctor they're talking about, this topic of conversation should be safe enough, right? 

“Berta? Ah, yes, she is feeling better. I left her under the care of Mrs. Senft, the ground floor neighbor. She should come to the hospital in no time for her post-natal care, but Mrs. Senft insisted on breakfast first. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to the hospital for my shift—” 

“We'll come too,” Rory interrupts a bit too eagerly, though he's obviously making an effort to tamper his glee when faced with one of his 'idols'. 

“After that interesting discussion we had yesterday, we thought perhaps it would help if you were to have an opinion from the outside,” Koschei adds, far calmer, and Semmelweis relaxes while Rory grimaces sheepishly. “Doctor Williams here can help you with your rounds in the First Clinic, and I can take a look at the Second Clinic. After, we can compare notes. Perhaps we'll see something you haven't, as used as you are to the place.” 

Semmelweis seems to take insult for a moment, puffing up, before making the mistake of looking into Rory's eyes. Seriously, that one is almost more desperate to help than the Doctor himself. 

… That, and the sincerity in his gaze would make _anyone_ realize he truly wants to help. Rory is a nurse, he _knows_ how to reassure people, and how to let them know he truly means what he says. 

Semmelweis' indignation turns to suspicion for an instant, but before Koschei can figure out _what_ has brought that about, he relents with a sigh. 

“Very well. I will ask someone to show Doctor Williams around the First Clinic and I will accompany you on your rounds in the Second Clinic,” he tells them as he starts to walk towards the hospital, nodding at Koschei, and both he and Rory exchange a confused look before turning to Semmelweis once more. “Doctor Williams is a medical professional; he will need no guidance. However, _you_ might need it, Mister Holmes. And besides, I have been looking for an opportunity to check on the Second Clinic since I returned from my holidays.” 

“Oh, and why would that be?” Koschei asks curiously, waving down his indignation at being told _he_ needs a guide, as well as ignoring Rory's grin. 

“When I left for Venice at the beginning of March, the mortality rate of the First Clinic was far higher than that of the Second. However, in my absence, it seems the Second Clinic has started recording almost as many deaths as the First. I wish to see if there has been any change that could have brought that about. As far as I know, there is nothing different from when I left, but… Well, I truly can't help but wonder about it,” he explains, ending with a huff as he straightens and lifts his head, eyes ablaze with determination that was nowhere to be seen the night before. 

If Rory's grin is anything to go by, it appears dear Ignaz is back to his historically combative self. Koschei can only hope it won't get them in trouble… After all, the man got himself thrown into an asylum thanks to that strong will and stubborn streak… 

They take a horse cab to the hospital, with Rory soaking in Semmelweis' medical babble while Koschei distracts himself by looking out the window. As far as they've seen, nothing is amiss in Vienna, and the TARDIS hasn't found any recent signs of alien activity. On the one hand, it could simply be that there was a bout of puerperal fever in the Second Clinic due to natural causes, though such a thing was never written down in the papers Koschei spent the night reading. On the other hand, maybe this is like London with the Silurians, with the origin of the anomaly being Terran. 

Still, one way or another, this merits investigation. Koschei won't let the chance of this being the result of a spatiotemporal crack and them missing it simply because he thought it was nothing. 

The cab takes them all the way to the doors of the hospital, past the sturdy walls and the green fields surrounding the buildings, and that's when Koschei sees the first oddity since they walked out of the TARDIS' doors. 

“That doesn't look like the rest of the buildings,” he points out as they step out of the cab, once Semmelweis has paid the driver and so he can follow Koschei's line of sight. 

“That's the Narrenturm, the Fool's Tower. It's the asylum,” he explains simply, dismissively, but Koschei doesn't take his eyes away from it. 

The hospital's buildings are square and almost quaint, but the Fool's Tower, as the name implies, looks taken out of a medieval castle. Round, with five floors and slot-like windows, and well over fifty years old, if the weathered stone is anything to go by. As far as asylums go, it isn't the creepiest Koschei has visited, invited or not, but it really is unfitting. Also, are those lightning rods on the roof? 

“This way, Doctor Williams, Mister Holmes,” Semmelweis calls, already walking towards one of the buildings, and Koschei shakes his head to focus on the present once more. 

“Anything we should worry about?” Rory asks in a whisper, sending a wary look over his shoulder as they leave the Fool's Tower behind. 

“Maybe. It could just be a crazy sponsor's idea of 'modern' architecture, but it's best not to leave anything to chance. For now, let's focus on the Clinics themselves,” Koschei suggests, and Rory acquiesces with a simple nod, turning his attention to Semmelweis. 

Clever, for a human. Good instincts. Amy definitely chose well – _has_ definitely chosen well. Present tense. They _will_ get Amelia back. 

“Doctor Gottlieb! If I may have a moment of your time?” Semmelweis calls as they reach the building they were aiming for, and a young man about to step in stops at the call, blue eyes bright under his mop of dark blond hair. “This is Doctor Arnfried Gottlieb. Doctor Gottlieb, these are Doctor Rory Williams and Sherlock Holmes, from England. They are visiting Vienna and would like a tour of our Clinics. They believe that an outside look might aid us with the increase in puerperal fever contagion,” he tells the younger man, who nods in interest before turning to the time travelers with a smile. 

“Welcome to Vienna's General Hospital, Doctors. I will be honored to help you with anything you might need.” 

“Could you show Doctor Williams around the First Clinic? I have been meaning to visit the Second Clinic for a while now, and showing Mister Holmes around would give me that chance,” Semmelweis adds before Koschei can protest being called a doctor once more. 

This time, though, Semmelweis is far pushier, with a grin that broaches no discussion, and Gottlieb's eyes widen as he swallows nervously. 

Well, look at that. Some humans actually have _teeth._

“Y-Yes, of course, Doctor Semmelweis. But you know Matron Freund doesn't want—” 

“She doesn't want us 'old hospital folk' to corrupt her new system, I know. I have yet to see what is so different from old Matron Schnoor's management,” Semmelweis scoffs like a man tired of the same old argument, and Koschei perks up. 

A change in management could explain things, whether because the way they work now is conductive to a spread of fever or because of more sinister reasons. 

“Rike doesn't see much difference – ah, that is, Matron Král,” Gottlieb hums in agreement, before reddening like a tomato. 

“Still holding back on that courtship, Arnfried?” Semmelweis taunts with a grin that almost mirrors Koschei's, before he waves the younger doctor away. “Just make sure to give Doctor Williams a good and thorough explanation of the building and our practices. And let _me_ deal with Matron Freund. After all, how could she refuse a visit from an eminence from England?” he mocks, but instead of being insulted, Koschei snickers. 

“Planning to get on a co-worker's nerves? You are far more devious than I first thought, Doctor Semmelweis,” he comments lightheartedly, ignoring Rory rolling his eyes by his side. 

“As I said, this is but a visit to the facilities. I am in no way entering her premises as a doctor, but as a guide,” Semmelweis answers calmly as they split from Gottlieb and Rory, making for another of the buildings – and his pompous smile finally falls to reveal the burning determination underneath. “And if she refuses me entrance with one of her many excuses, then you, at least, will be allowed in. She cannot turn away a foreign doctor if we are to keep the Hospital's good name.” 

_Ah,_ Koschei thinks almost ruefully, his smirk dimming into a soft curling of his lips. _He finally shows his cards._

“You want me to lie. To tell them I am a doctor and get as much information as I can about how the Second Clinic works,” he asks without asking, but instead of answering with sheepishness or guilt or any other _human_ responses, Semmelweis stays as unbending as steel. 

“I want you to get that information for me, yes, but I do not ask you to lie. Doctor Williams has made it clear that you know more than you may wish, and I trust his judgement. He is earnest and passionate, and he holds you in high enough regard to overlook whatever reason you have to hide behind the facade of 'Mister Holmes'. And so will I. Do _not_ let me down, Doctor. Do _not_ let my patients suffer if there is any way I can help.” 

… The _nerve_ of this human! How dare he— 

_“I know you can do it, Koschei. I have faith in you.”_

How… How dare he… 

_“It's hard, Koschei, it really is. But sometimes, you can really save everyone. Don't give up, alright?”_

How… dare… 

_“It will be hard, my love, but don't lose hope. We won't.”_

He… 

_“Never give up, never give in, huh? The Doctor, the sanctimonious twat that makes people better.”_

… Ugh. 

“You are bloody lucky I'm not supposed to kill anyone, _Ignaz,”_ he grumbles under his breath, trying to hold onto his anger and indignation even as it slips through his fingers in the wake of his reluctant acceptance. 

Semmelweis has the nerve to _grin._

“As I said, I do not know what your true plans for your visit to Vienna are, but as long as you get me what I want, I will overlook what you just said,” the human sniffs pompously, and Koschei can't help but laugh at that. 

Well, shoot. That almost sounded like something _Koschei_ might have said, especially if, as Semmelweis, he intended to get on a certain someone's nerves. 

And _that thought_ sobers him almost fast enough to hurt. Semmelweis is treating Koschei as Koschei would _the Doctor._

“I'm going to have nightmares…” he grumbles under his breath, grimacing and shivering, but Semmelweis seems content to just observe in confusion and interest. 

“Ah, Doctor Semmelweis! Good morning,” a woman's voice calls, popping the bubble the two of them had been in, and they immediately turn to the slightly chubby blond woman in a nurse uniform, rosy cheeks stretching with her smile. “Is there anything I could help you with?” 

“Good morning, Matron Král. Actually, I believe so. I am supposed to show a couple of English doctors around the hospital. Doctor Gottlieb is guiding Doctor Williams around the First Clinic, but Doctor Holmes here insisted on visiting the Second. And I, as you would expect, could not in good conscience leave him alone. My position demands no less than my being the most attentive of hosts,” he sweettalks the nurse, the matron, who seems torn between smiling and frowning in worry. 

“Why, of course, Doctor Semmelweis… I am sure Arnie can accommodate Doctor Williams, but Matron Freund… Oh, that is, Doctor Gottlieb! Please, excuse my manners…” she answers, stuttering just like dearest _Arnie_ when caught in the same slip, but far calmer than the man was. 

Koschei doesn't even need words as he meets Semmelweis' gaze. 

_Pining idiots._

“I believe I could see you inside, but you know how Matron Freund is, Doctor Semmelweis. If she believes your presence here will disrupt the Clinic's regular operations, foreign doctor or not…” she adds, her smile falling in favor of an apologetic look as sincere as all her other expressions. 

“We will deal with that as we come to it, Matron Král. For now, shall we?” Semmelweis answers calmly, gesturing towards the door with confidence and unbending steel in his voice, but with fondness in his gaze, and the nurse beams at him and guides them inside. 

Koschei takes a look around the corridors they walk through, listening with one ear to Matron Král's tour, Semmelweis quiet in favor of trying to catch anything that might point him to the reason behind the bout of puerperal fever. It looks like any other contemporary Earth hospital, with no instruments out of place time-wise or anything strange or alien or _other_ anywhere. If he were to judge by the Clinic alone, Koschei would say there's nothing wrong in the place, that the fever is completely natural, and move on. 

But there's the staff to take into account too. Some of the matrons salute them calmly, while others give them the stink eye. Koschei doesn't need Semmelweis' whisper to recognize the first as workers of 'before' Matron Freund took charge and the second as the new additions. 

So. It seems the new Head Matron _does_ have something to do with this anomaly. Well, it's been a while since Koschei hypnotized anyone. It'll be good practice. 

_Oh, come on!_ a voice that sounds too much like Theta's groans at the back of his mind at the thought, and Koschei can't help but grin. 

He's going to fix things the way the Doctor wants. At least he can be allowed to do it _his_ way. 

Koschei catches a flash of Theta before the approaching matron makes the ghost pop away, but the expression on his face is enough to wipe away Koschei's grin. 

Sad. Proud. _Pitying._

No. He's _not_ wrong. He's fixing things like the Doctor, to bring the Doctor back. He is _not_ throwing a tantrum; he is not in denial or whatever 'stage of grief' they want to call it. He _will_ get the Doctor back, fix things just enough that he can break them again when they return each to their respective roles— 

But does he really want that? 

“Doctor Semmelweis. I believe I have made my opinion clear on you intruding in my clinic,” the new matron chastises with a crackling voice that snaps Koschei out of his musings. 

It's clear, even before anyone opens their mouth, that this is Matron Freund, for her words if nothing else. She's old, wrinkled and with her bun as gray as granite, and nowhere as friendly as her surname, the German word for 'friend', makes her seem. 

“I am more than aware of your dunderheaded policies, Matron Freund, and I respect them despite the futility of your demands. I am not here in capacity of doctor, but as a guide. This is Doctor Sherlock Holmes, of England, and he requested a tour of the Second Clinic. The least I could do was see him to it,” Semmelweis answers with mockery under the politeness, and Koschei sees a vein pop in Matron Freund's jaw. 

Oh, he _likes_ this human! 

Enough to take out the psychic paper when Matron Freund turns to him, keeping his sharp grin to something almost polite. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” he tells the woman, whose eyes widen like saucers at whatever she sees in the paper. 

Koschei is letting their imagination see the worst they can, someone who they could absolutely _not_ turn away, and judging by Matron Král's startled gasp and the way she covers her mouth, it's working. 

“Doctor Sherlock Holmes, Royal Physician of Queen Victoria of the British Empire… Lord Almighty, to have such an eminence in our presence!” Matron Král squeaks in surprise, flushing brightly in both embarrassment and delight, and Semmelweis chokes on air at her words. 

Koschei's grin widens, even as he remembers Liz Ten mentioning something about Queen Victoria knighting and banishing the Doctor in the same day. Oh, he _loves_ irony – when it's in his favor, that is. 

“Yes, precisely. So, you see now why I couldn't allow myself to leave Doctor Holmes wandering around on his lonesome,” Semmelweis adds, recovering admirably well from his surprise, and Matron Freund glares back but nods almost regally with a deep breath. 

“Indeed, Young Semmelweis. It is quite a surprise to meet you, Doctor. We hadn't expected you,” Matron Freund answers with a derisive look at Semmelweis and an almost _coy_ one directed at Koschei. 

… Uh… what? He hasn't turned on any kind of charm unconsciously, has he? No, of course not! She's just seeing a chance at power and influence, and grabbing it with both hands. 

Plus, it makes Semmelweis steam, face reddening at the insolence of calling him a _kid,_ so Koschei shakes his head and focuses back on the conversation 

“We kept our visit quiet to avoid unwarranted attention. We merely wanted to take a look around, compare our methods to see if we could improve our own clinics. Her Majesty takes her subjects' wellbeing very seriously,” he answers placidly, and Matron Freund nods and gestures for them to continue. 

“Indeed! Most admirable. Now, allow me to continue with your visit. Matron Král, you may return to your duties. And do please keep the Doctors' presence here on the quiet. We would not appreciate being bothered, now would we?” 

“Of course, Matron Freund. It is an honor, Doctor Holmes,” Matron Král answers, vanishing after a quick curtsy that Koschei answers with a nod. 

He could get used to this, the bows and respect and groveling, though the whole 'doctor' bit needs to go. 

The tour resumes, much as it was with Matron Král, but this time, the reason Koschei doesn't pay that much attention is that there's some kind of buzzing at the back of his brains… the kind that he usually feels around the Nestene. 

Or to be more accurate, around any kind of hive minds. A telepathic network like that of the Nestene, or even the Ood, can make him feel like this, the buzzing of thoughts whizzing past in a frequency that is not his own, not that of a Time Lord, too basal and _linear_ to be anything as beautiful and musical as a Time Lord telepathic connection. 

But it's here, in the Second Obstetrical Clinic of the Vienna Hospital, on May 1847. 

Koschei may have discarded any kind of alien involvement in the oddities of puerperal fever contagion before, but now he's not so sure. 

It _could_ be Silurians, of course, some of them are telepathic, but the characteristic smell of dirt is absent this time. 

Which could be because they are in a hospital and everything smells of sickness, of fever and blood and human milk from the mothers and dirty nappies from the children. He shouldn't discard it, but Koschei can't help but suspect it isn't the case here. 

Illness is not the Silurians' style. Or not the style of those he knows of. 

“I would like your opinion on a new project we have been granted permission for, Doctor,” Matron Freund asks as their tour comes to an end, addressing Koschei and Koschei only, to Semmelweis' annoyance. “If I may take some more of your time, that is.” 

_And here's the trap,_ Koschei thinks, smiling politely. 

Well, good thing Rory's busy with Doctor Gottlieb. 

“It would be my pleasure, Matron Freund,” he answers calmly, putting his hands in his pockets to make sure his screwdriver is in its place. 

“Marvelous! This way, please. Ah, not you, Young Semmelweis. I will not have you and your 'progressive' ideas tarnish my project,” she mocks when Semmelweis makes to follow them through the door. 

The doctor's eyes narrow and he straightens in a way that says he won't be swayed. 

“May I remind you, Matron Freund, who is in charge of the Obstetrics Department? Whose permission have you for this mysterious project you can't even show to the Head of Obstetrics? If I do not accompany you _right now,_ I will have your project stopped, scrapped, and set the papers aflame!” he explodes, so red that Koschei wonders whether he's going to topple dead from a heart attack. 

“Very well,” Matron Freund answers calmly, and the other two do a doubletake. “You are right, Doctor Semmelweis. You were not here when the idea was proposed, so I assume it is your right to check on it now. Let us be on our way then.” 

And just like that, she opens the back door and steps out into the grounds. 

“Did that really work?” Koschei asks no one, even as Semmelweis struts proudly outside with a triumphant grin on his face. “Wait, where are you going?” 

“To make sure her project does truly comply with the Hospital's expectations, Doctor Holmes. I might yet find out the reason for this puerperal fever outbreak, if this new project is involved. None of the methods or facilities have changed from Matron Schnoor's tenure, so if anything is amiss, this must be it.” 

“And you're walking right into a trap!” he hisses as he catches up – and stops, eyes widening in disbelief. “Oh, _come on!”_ he exclaims, throwing his hands out, and both Matron Freund and Semmelweis turn to him in surprise at the outburst. “The asylum? Really?” 

“Its top floor is unused. The Hospital thought best to give it some use than none at all,” Matron Freund answers amiably, smiling almost grandmotherly, and Koschei has to try _really_ hard to keep his scoff at bay. 

The Fool's Tower stands over them like a Judoon guard, casting them in cold shadow, and as 'innocent' as Matron Freud's smile. 

_Which is to say, not at all._

Koschei doesn't need Theta this time to see what's amiss here. Even a _fool_ would see the trap they're being led to. It's like they're not even trying! 

“Whoever is behind this needs some lessons,” he grumbles under his breath, pocketing his hands petulantly but still grabbing his screwdriver tightly, just in case. 

He knows what this is, and more fool would he be if he didn't prepare for it. It's just… it's so _obvious._ Are they seriously this incompetent, or could it be they're actually innocent? 

… Nah. 

And so, Koschei follows as they climb up the tower, frowning at the screams echoing all around from the more vocal of patients, but mostly because the buzzing is getting _worse._ And not in the 'getting closer to the source' worse, more like 'stepping into a generator' worse. 

What in Skaro is going on here? 

“I was not aware there was anything beyond the fifth floor,” Semmelweis comments as Matron Freund guides them to the last staircase, and Koschei doesn't bother wiping the bored look off his face. 

“Not many are, Young Semmelweis, but it suits our purposes,” she answers cheerily, guiding them to a single room building in the middle of the roof, topped by lightning rods. “We were looking into ways to keep difficult babes alive. How many die from being born early, or weak? Difficult births kill so many… We wish to improve those odds, to help the population grow strong and healthy,” she explains as she unlocks the door and waves them in. 

It's a trap, so bloody blatant that it makes Koschei want to either weep or laugh. He manages to contain himself, still holding onto his screwdriver, but he's not bothered when they find a large mechanical oval of clear alien origin in the middle of the room and nothing else. 

“What is this? Some sort of cradle?” Semmelweis asks, still blind in his curiosity and ingenuity, and that's when Koschei decides enough is enough. 

“It's alien. Would you be so kind as to tell me where exactly is it from, Matron Freund? And while we're at it, what's your real name?” he asks with a toothy smile that has nothing of humor in it, startling Semmelweis, but Matron Freund simply closes the door at her back and smiles angelically. 

“Why, you do not appear to make sense anymore, dearest Doctor Holmes,” she mocks, but when she next blinks, her eyes are murky mudballs slowly dripping down her face. 

“By the Almighty! What is wrong with you, Matron Freund?” Semmelweis exclaims, but wisely moves away from the alien. 

“Oh, cut the act. It was _painful_ actually watching it, you know? I'm suffering of second-hand embarrassment, that's how bad it was,” Koschei snarls, finally pulling out his screwdriver to scan Matron Freund. “Right, whatever, let's cut to the point. You have one chance to pack up and leave this planet be. If you are unable to leave, I can get you in contact with the Shadow Proclamation, who will then help you return to – what planet are you from?” he explains in a bored tone, though he can't help but frown at the results from the screwdriver, at the data he's completely confused by. 

Mostly because it says that she's _human._ Fully, one hundred percent human. 

“Earth, dear Doctor, Lord of Time. We are from Earth,” she—it, whatever—answers in a whisper made of a thousand voices— 

And her body breaks into a flurry of mud-colored flakes that rush at Koschei so fast that he can only close his eyes and mouth and lift his hands— 

He grunts as his back impacts against the egg-shaped thing, but it isn't until something viscous wraps around his wrists to hold him in place that he opens his eyes. There are muddy tendrils grabbing onto him, immobilizing him, their grip so tight that his screwdriver falls from his hands as he loses feeling in his fingers. 

“God! What kind of _madness_ is this?!” Semmelweis shrieks from where he's pressing against a wall, watching as the whirlwind that was Matron Freund goes back to her discarded clothes to reform once more into the shape of an old woman, muddy eyes gone. 

“This, Semmelweis, is a gift from the stars. A power from beyond comprehension, which gives life and power to the lowest of life forms. This body came here to be alone, dying from that which you call 'puerperal fever' – and the Gift granted it power, granted it life. The Gift gave us, the Fever, _life,”_ the creature that was Matron Freund answers with that multi-layered voice, her hands breaking into shivering flakes like they were a bunch of excited birds on a branch. “But it cannot extend that life. We have tried to increase its power with lightning, but it only allowed us the ability to take over more bodies for a bit while their hearts still beat and a little more. After, when the body dies, the Fever dies with it.” 

“The matrons, that's what you did. Possessed them, bit by bit, and you're doing the same to the patients. Using those parts of yourself, you've infected them like an illness!” Koschei snarls, struggling against his bonds as the orb he's strapped to seems to heat up and pulse in a way that makes him feel like his head is going to split open. 

“We _are_ an Illness! We are the Fever!” Freund— _the Fever_ cackles, once more lifting their hands as the flakes shake noisily. “And we shall extend and claim this world, reign eternal. And then, we shall take to the stars and find more Gifts, and the whole universe shall belong to _us.”_

“Ugh, this is so bloody _stupid!”_ Koschei exclaims, letting his head fall back as he finally ceases struggling, though he's still berating himself for getting _cocky_ and _overconfident._ “And what are you going to do after, rule it into intergalactic peace and love? Live happily ever after? The universe is nothing without differences, without conflict! And you don't even have a ship.” 

“You do.” 

“Oh, good luck with _that!_ The pain in the ass doesn't listen to me on a good day, what makes you think she'll listen to _you?”_ Koschei mocks, amused despite the situation, because it finally dawns on him that the Fever is well and truly defeated, and he doesn't even have to lift a finger. “You can't make it out of this hospital, can you? The possession kills any bodies you take control of, the machine doesn't work anymore to make more of you – you're _dead,_ Fever. You're a walking corpse, literally and metaphorically, and you know it. Your little cadaverous particles are infectious, but they are also _deadly. You_ are killing your own chances at survival. And all _I_ have to do is sit and wait for that to happen,” he laughs, delighting in the way the Fever's smirk turns into a scowl. 

“What kind of Royal Physician are you supposed to be?” Semmelweis exclaims from where he's looking at everything with eyes like saucers, gawking more in disbelief than anything else. 

“The kind that is not a Royal Physician,” Koschei scoffs – and the Fever chuckles. 

“Oh, we know. We know of you, we knew as soon as you brandished the mind-boggling paper, a blank slate for anyone to make of it as they please. It was fortunate Matron Král was there to be deceived, for your tricks won't work on us, Lord of Time.” 

Ah. Well, that explains how the Fever got the information they got. And here Koschei thought the simplicity of the 'trap' was because the Fever thought him human. He can _never_ let the Doctor hear of this, it's _embarrassing!_

“Lord of what?” 

“It's _Time Lord,_ thank you. It's pretentious enough without you twisting it to paint me as something I am not,” he answers disdainfully, going as far as to tilt his chin up with half-lidded eyes. 

“The Time Lord, the Doctor, the man who fixes the world. Names are but another lie to you, are they not? Who is to put worth in a name when the man of a thousand faces has none? Who is to hope when the killer dressed as a healer walks into town? The Fever might be young, Doctor, but the world remembers. It remembers fire and death, and the man standing in the midst of the chaos, the one who will destroy everything. You, Doctor, will unleash the _End of Time.”_

And Koschei's breath catches in his throat, eyes wide in shock. 

_How…?_

“Ah, you have seen it too, have you not? And you dare blame the Fever for deaths brought about by our struggle for survival, when you seek the death of all as a result of whatever strikes your fancy? The stars die, they _cry._ Beware. Beware the Man Who Will Bring the Silence,” the Fever hisses, a delighted grin once more on their melting face as they step closer and closer and the machine at Koschei's back _burns—_

Someone knocks on the door. 

For a moment, it's as if time itself had stopped. 

And then, the knock comes again. 

“Matron Freund? Please, it's an emergency!” Matron Král shouts from the other side, sounding just as scared as is to be expected. “Please, Matron Freund! A fire has started in the Clinic!” 

That does it. The Fever grimaces, rearranging their face into Matron Freund once more, and gives Koschei one last sharp grin as they lift their flakey hand— 

A shoe slams into the Fever's face hard enough that the 'frail old lady' topples to the side with a squeak. 

“Come on, come on, come on!” Semmelweis chants as he rushes to Koschei's side, missing a shoe, and starts to wrestle against the tendrils keeping Koschei at bay. 

“No, no! The screwdriver, grab the screwdriver! Setting 20, put it at 20!” he tells Semmelweis urgently, jerking his head towards the fallen tool, and the doctor immediately grabs it even as the voices at the other side of the door exchange loud exclamations and the Fever gets up with a snarl— “ _Augh!_ At _the Fever!_ Point it at the Fever and _then_ press the button!” he orders when the _idiot_ activates the screwdriver while pointing it at the ceiling, the psychic scramble rattling his brains so hard that he sees no less than three Matron Freunds topple to the floor with distorted screeches when Semmelweis finally obeys. 

There's a loud crack as the door snaps out of its rusted hinges to topple to the floor, and Koschei has just a second to doubt before Semmelweis' voice clears his confusion. 

“Doctor Gottlieb! Doctor Williams!” 

“It's the Matron! Rory, it's the bloody Matron! She's a sentient bit of puerperal fever so you need to—” 

“Already ahead of you!” Rory's voice cuts as he takes some kind of pot from a third figure and turns to the flaking and snarling Fever— 

And throws a bucket of chlorine and lime water right at the creature. 

Koschei feels almost grateful that his sight is clearing up at last, because he would've missed the impressive way the Fever smokes and burns as it is 'disinfected'. His ears don't appreciate the screeching so much, but that's a small price to pay for the spectacle. His headache doesn't agree, but it's no trouble to just push it back as soon as the last of the Fever sizzles into nothingness and the godawful noise ceases. 

“… Okay, that's a bit more than I actually expected,” Rory says at last, gulping, as he looks from the wet uniform on the ground to his now empty jar. 

Koschei laughs and lets himself drop to rest his full weight against the burning machine, just for a bit. The tendrils are still attached firmly, but a very distressed Matron Král and a green-faced Doctor Gottlieb agree to go fetch some more of Semmelweis' disinfectant to get him free, so he doesn't mind that much. 

As soon as Rory drops the jar, Semmelweis puts the screwdriver in his hands and steps away as if it was going to burn him. 

“I don't want to know,” Semmelweis says before Rory can even ask. “I know what I heard and what I saw, but I _don't want to know.”_

“Oh, come on, Ignaz. You did an excellent job; you should be proud. After all, if it wasn't for you, that thing would've spread further, overtaking the hospital, and then Vienna…” 

“Do _I_ want to know?” Rory asks tiredly, looking at Koschei still tied up, and the Time Lord grins back mischievously before dropping the expression for genuine curiosity. 

“How did you know to come here? And with the solution, no less.” 

“I did my job, what you told me,” Rory answers with a scrunch of his nose, almost insulted. “I took notes of Arnie's tour, and when Rike came to find us for some tea after being relieved by Matron Freund, I asked her about the Second Clinic. I compared them, and the only difference I could spot was the autopsies, like I told you, so I thought there must've been something wrong with the new Matron, some reason she would refuse Doctor Semmelweis' suggestion of people washing their hands so strongly. So, we went to ask her right-hand Matron, and she actually recoiled when I offered to shake her hand. I had washed mine after the visit to the First Clinic with Doctor Semmelweis' solution, so…” he explains with a shrug, and Koschei drops his head back again with another chuckle. “When Rike said she saw you two being taken to the Narrenturm, I knew that's where it was going to go down. So, we took the solution, asked the guard, and came here. I'm surprised she got you all tied up. It was a bit too obvious, wasn't it?” 

“Oh, shut _up,”_ Koschei scoffs, but can't help the grin creeping to his face in answer to Rory's. “I need a break, that's all,” he adds, and Rory boggles at that, gawking in disbelief. 

“Did you get bitten by a Neverwere again?” 

“Rory!” 

“What? You're making sense and being reasonable! I'm entitled to worry!” 

“As interesting as this conversation is,” Semmelweis cuts before Koschei can answer _that,_ and he decides to cut Rory a break as thanks for the timely rescue and turns his attention to the doctor instead. “The Clinic isn't actually on fire, is it?” 

“What? Oh, no! No, it isn't, we just needed to get Matron Freund out and that's the first thing Rike came up with,” Rory explains quickly, flustered, but relaxes at Semmelweis' grin. “And, huh, sorry about taking your solution.” 

“Please, don't. It is what saved us all. Though I must admit I am curious about the Fever's words, Doctor. How could anyone end time itself?” he asks, turning to Koschei, who flinches before he can stop himself. 

The thing at his back burns hotter than before, or so it seems. And Rory's worried look is filled with an understanding that _shouldn't_ be there. He must be thinking about the Neverwere, about the Time War, but… 

“We're back!” Matron Král calls cheerfully as her and Doctor Gottlieb come through the door with another basin full of the disinfectant, and Koschei breathes a sigh of relief despite the weight still resting on his hearts. 

Carefully, they pour some of the liquid over the tendrils, which sizzle and vanish much like the actual Fever did, and Koschei jerks away from the machine with a relieved groan. 

“Skaro ablaze, _finally!_ That thing is _boiling,”_ he scoffs, rubbing at his back, before Rory puts a hand on his shoulder and points at the machine. “What?” 

“You said the thing is boiling, but the water just froze,” he explains, and Koschei turns around with a confused frown to see that he's right. “Should I check you for frostbite?” 

“No. No, it was _heat,_ not cold. And I know that difference, trust me,” he muses almost under his breath, holding up a hand for his screwdriver, which Rory returns after a moment of fumbling. “Time to crack the egg open.” 

He needs to try five different settings before he manages to find the right one, but when he does, he immediately recognizes the light spilling from the cracks of the machine grinding open. 

When he hisses for the humans to move back, they all do – and a second later, as soon as the machine is fully unfolded, the blinding white light vanishes, leaving nothing but molten plastic behind. 

“Nestene,” Koschei whispers, wide-eyed, as he carefully approaches the _escape pod,_ trying his best to ignore the smell of burning time at the end of the universe left behind by the small crack. “This was a Nestene pod. With the power from the crack, it must have transferred a sliver of the Nestene consciousness into the closest compatible creature – the puerperal fever infecting Matron Freund's body. But that's all it could do, and now… It's… displaced. No longer contained here, it's breaking somewhere else, while time tries to heal he— _ow!”_ he exclaims when he waves his screwdriver a bit too close to the temporal scar and gets stung for his actions. “Do you see now why I need to fix them, Rory? Come on, back to the TARDIS. There's no time for operas now,” he snarls, activating yet another setting on the screwdriver that triggers the pod's self-destruction, which melts it into an unrecognizable puddle of metallic-colored plastic. 

“What? You can't just leave like that, we need explanations!” Gottlieb protests as Koschei stalks out the door, the rest of the group following close behind. 

“If there's an illness, wash your hands, what else is there to say?” he calls over his shoulder, not breaking his stride, focusing on the TARDIS' song, still tucked away in the city. 

_Come on, you pain in the ass. We have a job to do,_ he sends as strongly and focused as he can, before activating the recall he installed on the screwdriver just for these reasons. 

“But—” 

“Semmelweis!” he calls, stopping just outside the door and finally turning around to face the man, who startles at the suddenness of the gesture. “You're doing it right, you _are_ right. So keep at it, no matter what those ignorants out there think. You've seen the results here today, it _works._ Don't let those idiots tell you what you can and can't do. And you two!” he adds, turning to the apprehensive Gottlieb and Král. “For all that's sacred, will you stop watching from afar and actually do something? She likes you, Arnie, and he likes you, Rike. Now kiss and go enjoy your lives like you deserve instead of wasting three more years of your lives on this absurd pining!” he adds, ignoring the way they both go red as tomatoes and how Semmelweis recovers enough from his shock to grin maniacally. “As for you, Rory, move it! Time to go.” 

“But the TARDIS—” 

And of course, that's when the pain in the ass finally shows up, materializing right in front of their noses in the otherwise empty area behind the Narrenturm. 

“You were saying?” Koschei asks Rory with a toothy grin, and the man rolls his eyes with a sigh. 

“Show off.” 

“If you've got it, flaunt it.” 

“… You did _not_ just say that.” 

Koschei snorts but ignores anything else, opening the doors to step inside and arrange the coordinates to send them into the Vortex and after the newest anomaly. 

… If Rory _moves,_ that is. 

Apparently, whatever he's discussing with the trio outside is more important than Amy. Not that Rory remembers Amy right now, but that's the whole point. 

“Wait, Schwarzenegger? The woman from yesterday is actually called _Schwarzenegger?”_

“Yes, Berta Schwarzenegger. Why? Do you know her family?” 

“Huh… Yeah, you could say that.” 

“Do you want me to leave you here, Nurse Williams? Because unless you've forgotten, we have places to go,” Koschei calls from the door of the TARDIS, sending his companion his best deadpan glare. 

… Apparently, Rory is as immune to it now as Amy, because he just rolls his eyes. 

“Did he just call you a nurse?” Gottlieb asks in what he thinks is a quiet voice, and Koschei is the one to roll his eyes this time but says nothing, part of him longing for popcorn to see Rory make a fool of himself once again. 

He _really_ needs to stop underestimating his humans. 

“Yes, he did. I am a nurse, where I'm from. Not because I wanted to be a doctor but couldn't, but because I _wanted_ to be a nurse. Doctors investigate and find the root of the problem and fix it. They help people by dealing with whatever is threatening them. But nurses are there, by the patient's side, and even if they can't heal them the same a doctor can, they can take care of them all the same. They see the _person_ inside the patient, not just a number. They are there to smile and hold their hands, and make sure they are alright in a situation when there's no 'alright'. They hold people together while the doctors fix the problem,” he explains as simply but passionately as he can, no shame or hesitation in his voice or words or stance. 

Gottlieb and Král look confused and awed, respectively. Semmelweis looks over Rory's shoulder to meet Koschei's eyes, and smiles. 

“I hope to get a nurse as great as you,” he tells Rory but without breaking eye contact with Koschei, who startles for a second before nodding in a voiceless promise. 

There's nothing in the universe that'll stop him from protecting Rory, from bringing Amy back. No way, he's _done_ losing people. 

Of course, that's when Rory starts stammering, so Koschei calls for him again and, after one last goodbye, they're finally off. 

No more breaks. It's time to get their people back. 

* * *

Rory feels as if he's just been put in a washing machine with the highest revolution on. The day started normal enough, if such a term can be applied when the Doctor is around, with meeting Semmelweis and touring the Clinic with Arnie. But as soon as Rike had shown up and told them of what was going on in the Doctor's side of things, it was like time sped up. 

Investigate, the matron reacting to the chlorine solution on Rory's skin, rescuing the Doctor – for once, which feels kind of nice yet odd at the same time – the crack in the machine spooking the Doctor and sending them packing once more… 

The TARDIS has just locked the doors behind Rory's back, but the Doctor is at the console again, with his top hat, traveling coat and tailcoat hanging from the coat hanger that seems to be the TARDIS' latest whim, still standing faithfully by the doors. 

“You know, that was quite rude. And we still haven't taken that break,” Rory reminds the Doctor as he takes off his own hat and coat to hang. 

“I told you already, no breaks. We've got a job to do,” the Doctor answers coldly, glaring at the screen and flicking switches. 

“ _My_ job is to keep you in one piece, preferably unharmed. And that means taking a break before you burn out,” Rory reminds him a bit more forcefully, feeling dread pool in his stomach again. 

Sure, the opera attempt failed thanks to whatever Matron Freund got turned into, but that doesn't mean they can't try something else. And they _must._ It's clear that the Doctor _is_ burning out, his eyes sharp, his jaw clenched, the frown on his face slowly turning into a permanent fixture that does _not_ belong on such a cheeky bastard's face. He should be grinning, mocking, delighted, _actually happy._ Like when he fetched Rory from the pub or bickered in Sicily. Hell, even the indignation he showed in Cardiff after he was given his souvenir shirt is better than this! The Doctor is many things, but whatever he's turning into right now is not him. 

It shouldn't be him. 

“Oh, is that so?” the alien mocks, though Rory doesn't see whatever face he's making as he lunges for the top hat that slips off the coat hanger when the TARDIS jerks in midflight. “That's _your_ job, isn't it? And what in Skaro's radioactive flames makes you think that? You're a _human,”_ he spits out like the foulest of curses, and this time, Rory _does_ catch the disgust and loathing in his blazing amber eyes. 

He gulps, frozen in place, but straightens with a tremulous breath. 

Okay, the Doctor is angry. _Very_ angry. And Rory knows what happens when you anger the Doctor. 

The TARDIS wheezes louder, shuddering, but Rory takes another breath, more stable than the last, and pushes the hat in his hands back onto the coat hanger. 

Oh yes, the Doctor is angry, but he's _snarling._ Rory knows to fear a serious Doctor and a grinning Doctor, but when the Doctor snarls, it's all bark and no bite. Sure, he can follow it up with grinning or seriousness and that's when you should run, but as long as he's snarling and insulting, Rory knows he'll be safe. 

Feeling like dirt, maybe, but physically unharmed. And mentally. He does _not_ fancy getting his brain turned to mush, thank you very much. 

“Yes. Yes, I _am_ human. And you're not, obviously, and that means I can't really understand you, or how you tick—” the Doctor flinches at that, almost unnoticeably, but Rory is too winded up now to change his tune, throwing his greatcoat onto the railing and uncaring about the stupid figure he must cut in his 1847 vest and tailcoat and neck cloth, because _this is important._ “—but you still have feelings like everyone else, and you can become so _exhausted_ that you make mistakes and get caught by – by a flakey old woman! And I know I'm definitely _not_ the right person for this job, I'm just a _nurse._ But I'm _here._ And I'm willing to help. No matter how many times you insult me or kick me down or push me away or ignore me – _I'm not going anywhere!_ I'm not… I'm not going to leave you. Not me. Not as long as you need me, even if you don't _want_ me here,” Rory explodes, though his last words are almost too soft to be heard over the TARDIS' groaning and rumbling. 

The Doctor looks conflicted, eyes ablaze and nostrils flaring as his chest heaves with his irregular breathing, but his lips are pressed into a thin white line and his fists tremble threateningly at his sides. 

“Look, I… I don't know what it's like, losing all your people, losing everything you've ever known, but… I'm here if you need to talk. Or not talk! Just, I'm here, and I care, and I'm not leaving. You're… You're my friend, alright? The weirdest and craziest friend I never thought I would have, and that's without counting your being an alien, and I probably wouldn't invite you to my wedding just to protect everyone else's sanity, but—” 

The Doctor takes in a sharp intake of breath that hisses through his teeth, as if Rory had just punched him in the solar plexus, and he _looks_ like it too. 

For a moment. 

Before Rory can recover, before he can finish that sentence – _but I would invite you anyway because you are more important than all of my other friends put together and more, you are **family**_ – the Doctor takes a step forward and the lights start to flicker. 

“Friends, Rory Williams? Is that what you think all this is about?” the Doctor asks with a too large and toothy and _deranged_ grin, his eyes so pale and bright that it almost makes him look feverish, before he throws his head back with an unsettlingly amused bark of laughter. “That's _rich!_ Friends, huh? Oh, it's always that with you humans, you are so _predictable._ Friendship and love and peace and you're all a bunch of disgusting _hypocrites!_ Your own planet is dying out, your own people killed at your own hands, and you don't have the _guts_ to even acknowledge it! If you're going to kill someone, at least let it be _on purpose!_ But no, you talk about _friends_ instead,” he seethes, actually seethes, moving closer to the steps that lead to the door, that lead to _Rory,_ and the human can't help but step back even as he fights to draw breath and figure out what to say to break him out of this _madness._ “Do you know why I don't have friends, Rory? Do you _really_ want to know?” he asks almost sweetly, smiling even wider than before, if such was possible. “It's because I killed them all. With _these_ pretty little _twisted_ brains,” he answers, pointing at his own head with a giggle that makes Rory _shiver._ “Oh, you could blame wars and accidents and whatever, and you'd be right! But the good ones, the _best_ ones… Those I killed _myself._ What, you think I got this face for no reason? You have to be someone _really_ twisted to hold your dying best friend in your arms and still be _selfish._ And you, Rory Williams, who fancy yourself my _friend…_ You are just a means to an end,” he explains innocently, his grin turning into something smaller yet far more terrifying, and Rory takes another step back even as he tries to put his brain in order. “I don't need a human to get what I want. It's just more convenient if I keep you around. But if you insist on _friendship…_ Well, you know what happened to my other _friends._ Wanna join the club?” he asks, arms wide open in invitation— 

The TARDIS jerks so hard that both of them are swept off their feet, the Doctor sliding over the glass floor while Rory faceplants to the ground, the coat hanger toppling over him and forcing him to fight the coats that seem to be trying to tangle him up— 

A bell tolls, just like before Cardiff, too loud and unmistakable, and the Doctor curses somewhere outside of the coats smothering Rory— 

Another jerk has Rory slamming into something solid, a wall or the door – the surface against his back gives way, wind rushing all around and pulling Rory out of the TARDIS, and he grabs onto the first thing he can reach— 

The coat rips free of the hanger that had been lodged between the doors, and Rory thinks he sees the Doctor's terrified eyes as he reaches for him just a second too late.

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. Notes time:
> 
> I _know_ there's a Doctor Who comic called the same, but the original title didn't fit anymore and this one did, so there, have my version of "the boy's night out".
> 
> The Cloister Wars. I wish they were expanded on, but since they aren't, I made my own ideas about them from Missy's words and what we see in _Hell Bent_ and _Heaven Sent._ And the last bit of drifting nonsense from the Cardiff episodes is explained in the shape of the equation and more Time Lord lore and biology. Poor Rory is going to be scarred for life...
> 
> Ignaz Semmelweis. You've read it, he was the first to instill the practice of washing hands in hospitals, though he couldn't explain why at the time, not until Pasteur came around with his discovery, and by then it was too late for Doctor Semmelweis. I remember choosing him instead of Van Gogh for this episode because Rory doesn't strike me as a Van Gogh type, and I thought he would probably insist on some kind of medical exhibition instead. Only, _that_ didn't fit into the story, so they ended up bumping into him by accident.
> 
> I spent way too long researching 1847 opera. I'm not sorry. And yes, both titles are real operas of the time, and I actually planned to do some _The Greatest Showman_ jokes or something as soon as I saw Jenny Lind had been in those. _Never Enough_ would've fit marvelously, with the "towers of gold", but it just didn't manage to make it in there. *sigh*
> 
> Gottlieb and Král are taken from a name randomizer, and Berta Schwarzenegger was there just for kicks, though it turned out to be nothing more than an anecdote in the end. She, too, is taken from a randomizer, I have no idea about Arnold Schwarzenegger's family tree, not that far back.
> 
> The Fever added itself to the story. It was supposed to be an alien parasite stranded on Earth, kind of like the Werewolf in _Tooth and Claw,_ or at least that's what I have in my notes. I toyed with the idea of having Matron Freund be a mind-controlled human at one point, but the story went its own way to end with the Fever.
> 
> The Narrenturm has (is supposed to have?) an extra room at the very top, where an emperor of the Austrian Empire would go to 'soak' in the energy released by the people locked in the Narrenturm, or something. Again, my notes said to use all these theories, alongside the number of rooms and the weird shape of the tower, once more drawing inspiration from _The Shakespeare Code_ and the Carrionites, but nah, didn't happen. I don't know why I have notes, these stories always do what they want...
> 
> There was _also_ supposed to be a scene like the one with Eleven and Amy taking Vincent to the museum, but with Rory and Koschei bringing Ignaz to the lecture Rory had about him in university, which wouldn't have been as emotional because Ignaz is not Vincent, but would've been all mushy and hopeful and all that. Instead, Koschei gives him the bright idea of keeping up the fight, with would end with Ignaz writing those letters and being combative when he can't explain where he got the idea of the solution to kill the 'cadaverous particles', which eventually lands him in the asylum.
> 
> More than any other fic in this series, this one literally did what it wanted. I don't really like it, I probably will given some time, but I couldn't hold it back any longer. It was either scrapping it all completely and starting again from nothing, which no thanks, I may not like it but it fits, or posting it at last and moving on to the next. I decided on the second option. It's been too long, and I won't write the next ones if this one isn't out of the way.
> 
> So, have _The Doctor and the Nurse._ I'm going to get started on the next one. Three to go.


End file.
